


Taken

by kellyn1604



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Assault, F/M, Kidnapping, explicit smut in later part, non violent non/dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-10-30 13:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellyn1604/pseuds/kellyn1604
Summary: Characters- Tormund x ReaderSummary- Tormund Giantsbane finds more than just weapons and food on his latest raid. He finds you.Warnings- Kidnapping, non- violent non-con/dub-con, attempted assault (by someone else), Explicit lemons in the next part. That’s right I said lemons. This part is mostly limes.Author’s Note- This was written for sherrybaby14′s 6K challenge. The prompt I picked will appear in part 2. I am a casual watcher of the show. I have not read the books yet. This is non-canon and is basically just a way for me to write Tormund in a smutty way. lol. Just sit back and try to enjoy. If you like it, let me know! Thanks!





	1. Chapter 1

Screams rent the air. Bloodthirsty cries of men rose above the din of destruction outside. Crouching in the cellar, your sweat-slicked palms covered your mouth, silencing the sounds of terror that threatened to erupt as you listened to the echoes of death. The sounds of Wildings.

* * *

Growing up in The Gift, legends of Wildling raiders had always ended in Rangers from the Night’s Watch and the villagers banding together to defeat the barbarians from beyond the Wall. The wall kept you safe. And the watchers on the wall would always come to your aid.  You grew up safe with that knowledge.

The daughter of the local tavern owner, life was somewhat easier for you than your friends. You never went hungry, but your father worked you to the bone. He refused any offer of marriage for you, knowing anyone he hired after you would demand pay and work half as hard. The old gods had cursed him with a daughter instead of sons, but in you, he had a cook, washerwoman, and barmaid for the price of none. Why would he ever part with that?

Grateful to escape the fate of the other young women in the village, you worked tirelessly to keep the tavern clean and well stocked while your father enjoyed the fruits of your labor. The stew and bread served at the establishment was as sought after as the meads and wines thanks to you and a few hearty herbs in a small window box garden. The knowledge of how to care and cultivate them was all you had left of your mother. Someday, after your father was gone, you had planned on taking that knowledge south and building a new life; one that would never involve selling yourself to a man either in marriage or a brothel.

Over the past few years, however, legends had turned into reality as reports of Wildings south of the wall began occurring with more frequency and moving further south than ever before. More and more villages were abandoned as small folk sought the safety of settlements near a great house like Winterfell. But your father refused to listen to reason like so many others whose fathers and grandfathers before them had worked The Gift to provide for the Night’s Watch.

* * *

 Now you were hiding behind barrels of wine, beneath the stairs under the trap door that lead to the kitchens wondering if your father was still alive. If he had managed to hide or find his way to safety. You knew he would not survive a fight. 

A sudden crash from above broke you from your thoughts. Heavy footfalls shook the ceiling above you as you heard the tossing of furniture and the rolling of barrels. Gathering your black cloak around you, you hugged your satchel of prized possessions, praying you would live to escape from this nightmare.

Light flooded the stairs above you, as the trap door swung open. Dirt rained down with each fall of the heavy footsteps that now descended, step by step. You prayed to gods old and new to keep you hidden, tucking your chin to your chest, trying to conceal your face. Fighting your instincts to following the intruders progress around the cellar, you squeezed your eyes shut and focused on keeping your breathing shallow and silent.

You were sure he was taking stock of the wine, mead, and food stocks that were kept down here. When they left, you would have nothing. But if you were lucky, you would have your life.

You weren’t.

The barrel next to you shifted suddenly. A gasp and jump gave you away. An iron grip clasped around your upper arm, dragging you to your feet.

“What do we have here?” a deep voice asked, pulling you towards the light.

You dug your feet into the ground, but the dirt gave way leaving tracks in your wake. Your free hand clutched at anything it could trying to stop your forward momentum. One jerk broke whatever meager grip your hand managed to gain. Your hood fell back across your shoulders as you found yourself face to face with the first Wildling you had ever laid eyes on.

He was tall. So much taller than your father. His unruly hair sat in waves upon his head, long beard covering most of his face. His eyes, fixated on you, froze you to the core. You had expected to see madness, hatred, and rage staring down at you. What you saw was hunger.  

The corner of his mouth quirked into a slow grin as his eye traveled over you. Turning from you, he pulled you after him as he ascended the stairs. A reflection of light, sent you into motion. Leaning forward, you grabbed the dagger tucked in the leather straps wrapped around his fur-lined boot. Without thinking, you slashed at the hand gripping your arm. It opened, sending you tumbling, the blade falling from your hand as you reached back to catch yourself.

You scrambled to your knees, crawling to the weapon just beyond your reach. His boot came down on top of the blade as your hand clutched the hilt. His laugh filled the small room.

Tears blurred your vision before warming your cheek as they fell to the ground. He knelt next you, fingers lifting your face.

“You should have stabbed me, girl,” he said, voice thrumming with amusement.

His hand moved to the dagger, removing it from your grasp. Your arms crossed over your head blocking the blows you knew were coming. A scream was cut short, your stomach collided with his shoulder as he tossed you easily over it and proceeded up the stairs.

The kitchen was demolished. Table broken. The box with your herbs growing in the window lay fractured on the floor. Everything of value gone.

The Wildling proceeded to the front room where the men of the village had once gathered to enjoy food, wine, and women. Blood pools surrounded the bodies of those who had tried to seek shelter. In the corner, behind an over turned table you saw the boots that belong to your father, splayed in either direction, red seeping around his legs.

It was worse outside. Bodies were everywhere. Men, women, children. All laying where they were slain. Blank eyes staring towards the sky. The village, your home, everyone you had ever known was dead.  

Fists hammered at the back of the man hauling you through murder and mayhem. Legs flailed trying to land a kick. Tears collected on your eyelashes and slipped down your forehead into your hairline. You choked on the moisture collecting in your nose and throat as you fought upside down against your captor. A knot in your stomach tightened and bile churned as he laughed at your efforts.

You were lowered in front of him and struggled against his arms that held you against his chest, too close for you to even land an effective kick. The tears flowed freely down your face, you coughed and sobbed until you felt your lungs would shatter.

“Ygritte!” His chest vibrated with the force of his yell.

You were spun around in his arms. Bleary eyes made out a young woman with hair as red as his, running towards you covered head to toe in leathered skins and fur. She looked from you to him and glared.

“Really?” she asked. “You can’t be serious.” Disgust and contempt dripping from every word, she looked at you as though you were maggoty meat.

“Oh, yes,” the deep voice rumble behind you.

Confusion and fear had twisted your stomach. Sobs cramped your sides. Lungs burned in the cold air. Through the pain and anguish, your brain desperately tried to piece together what was going to happen to you. Why wouldn’t they just kill you already? You knew it was coming. Why did they prolong your torment? Everyone else was granted a swift death.

Ygritte rolled her eyes. “I’m not listening to that caterwauling for the next fortnight.”

You were thrust forward. Held out at arm’s length. The woman stepped forward. You registered her arm swinging forward towards you a split second before pain exploded in your face and the world went dark.

* * *

Gentle rocking, arms holding you close, it felt too good. A dream you didn’t want to wake up from. But your eyelids fluttered open against your better judgement to find yourself in a nightmare. You were staring up at the ginger-haired man who had stolen you from your home after killing and raiding the village. Glancing down, you realized the motion was caused by the steady steps of a horse beneath you.

Clutching at the broad chest behind you, eyes squeezed shut, his arms squeezed tighter. Not wanting to fall, you resisted the urge to fight the embrace.

“First time on a horse?” his deep voice rumbled above you.

You nodded. Horses were for people who traveled. Your father had everything he needed brought in by merchants and traders. He would never have spent money on something that cost more money after the initial purchase. Feeding and keeping a horse alive was a risky investment. So, there was never a need for you to learn how to ride. You were the only business investment your father seemed to care about. And he made sure you could never leave.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to push away from his chest needing to gain what little distance you could. His arms around you didn’t budge.

“How is your head?” His fingers lifted your chin.

You raised your eyes to meet his and your stomach clenched at the concern you saw staring back from his blue ones. Jerking your face from his fingers, you mumbled, “Fine.”

“Ah…so you can speak? That’s good.”  He patted your thigh. “What’s your name?”

You turned your head, staring at the caravan of wildings in front of you. Wagons pulled food, some goats, and other goods. All stolen. You quickly reached for the strap of your satchel and breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t take it from you. Before you could sink further into your thoughts, his hand gripped your thighs.  

“I asked you a question, girl. I expect an answer,” the wildling growled.

Turning once more to face him, you said your name through gritted teeth, wanting to slap the smirk that spread across his face.  

“Don’t you want to know my name?” He winked at you, his teeth showing under his mustache, eyes crinkling in what he must have thought was a charming smile.

“No,” replied, crossing your arms.

His whole body shook with laughter, threatening your precarious balance. “You shall have it anyways. My name is Tormund. And you, girl, are mine.”

 

* * *

 

You rode for what seemed like hours. You were cold regardless of your woolen dress and cloak. Winter was well on its way and you feared the frigid temperatures that awaited you when night fell. Grateful for the silence that had settled between you. You turned your attention your surroundings.

The Gift was good farmable land, flat and fertile. You wished it was thick and forested like the lands near Winterfell you had heard of. You might have had a chance of escape with some cover. You shifted uncomfortably trying to will your bladder into silence until the growth of an old orchard came into view. You must be near an old village. It wasn’t a forest, but it might do.

“What’s the matter?” Tormund asked after you moved once again.

It was now or never. A full bladder was as good an excuse to go into the overgrown tree line as any. “I need to make water,” you whispered feeling your cheeks warm.

“Make water?” His brows furrowed then raised. “Ah, you need to piss. Make water…so delicate.” His amusement at your expense made you wish you weren’t so delicate. Made you wish you were raised to be fierce. Like Ygritte. You hated her for knocking you unconscious, but had to admit she was unlike any woman you had ever seen before.

Tormund lead the horse over to the orchard and dismounted. He reached up, grabbing your hips, and easily lowered you down next to him. “Go. Make your water. Make some dirt too if needs be.” He laughed and pointed you towards a small copse of trees a few yards away.

Lifting your skirts, you stepped over fallen branches and general undergrowth. You maintained a slow pace. You ducked behind the trees, squatting to take care of your needs, not knowing when you would have a chance to stop next. Noting the position of the sun, your eyes scanned the horizon for a path to take without being noticed. The trees had become gnarled, lower branches stretching out no longer trimmed, thick with leaves and apples yet to fall. You grabbed a few apples and placed them in your satchel.

A few deep breaths and you took off as fast as you could. Jumping over roots, ducking beneath branches. Your heartbeat rushed in your ears. Never had you done anything so risky. So brave. So foolish.

If you kept heading south, you might find a village in land belonging to the Umbers. You’d barely made it a few yards when you heard your name roaring from Tormund’s throat behind you. You pushed your legs as hard as they could go, weaving in and out of trees, trying to avoid detection. You failed.

Snapping twigs and the crunching of underbrush were closing in on you. The pace outstripping your own. Tears prickled your eyes, but you forced them down. You couldn’t afford tears now. This could be your only chance.  You may not live to take another.

“Did you really think you could outrun me?” He was so close now. His breathing hard.

You chanced a glance over your shoulder. His red brows furrowed, eyes hardened, fixated on you. You stumbled over the trunk of a tree, a sob wrenched from your throat as the tears you had ignored filled your eyes before spilling down your cheeks.

“No!” you screamed as his hands came down on your shoulders, pushing you against the nearest tree. “Please,” you gasped. “Please, just let me go.”

Tormund bound your wrists together with a strip of leather in front of you. “No. You belong to me now. I underestimated you this time. It won’t happen again.” He scooped you into his arms and carried you back through the orchard to the horse.

 

* * *

Sitting astride in front of Tormund, weary from tears and sore from the ride, you shivered as the evening wind whipped around your exposed calves, your skirt bunching around your knees. Tormund’s arms wrapped around you, pressing you into his chest. “We’ll camp soon,” he whispered, his beard tickling your ear.

You swayed as the horse finally stopped, bracing yourself as much as you could with your hands tied together as Tormund slid to the ground first. Your legs gave out as soon as your feet hit the ground, and for a brief moment, you were grateful for the arms that caught you.

He carried you to a clearing where people were busy building fires and spits to roast meat. You sat staring at the embers. In the matter of one day, your whole life had gone up in flames. Nothing of who you were yesterday remained. Clutching your bag, you reminded yourself you still had something.

Tormund, sat beside you, staring down at you. “What do you have in there?” He pointed to your satchel.

You hugged it to yourself. You didn’t want to speak of yourself, your past. He had stolen those from you. He didn’t deserve them.

He leaned in. “I asked you a question. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Knowing you wouldn’t win this argument, you sighed. “Dried herbs. Seeds. And now two apples.”

“Herbs? What do you need herbs for? Are you a witch? A healer?” His hand stoked his beard as he studied you.

You shook your head. “Just a cook.” At least you were. Now you weren’t sure what you were. You would never travel south. You would never work at an inn where travelers would come as much for your food as a roof over their head. You would never be free.

“Cook? That’s good. A fine skill.” He patted your shoulder and left to fetch some supper.

As he reached the group around the fire, the men all laughed, slapping Tormund’s back and shooting furtive glances in your direction.  Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of anymore tears, you glared back. One of the men facing you nodded in your direction. Tormund turned and smiled. There was no understanding that man.

He fed you by hand, picking pieces of cooked meat off the bone and holding it your lips. When you protested, he said, “I take care of what is mine.” When you were done, he began eating voraciously, his eyes never leaving yours. Was it a Wildling custom to stare?

Stars were infinite above you, the cinders burning low. Your head nodded and jerked back up as you blinked slowly. You couldn’t resist when Tormund laid down next to you and pulled you close. You felt the weight of fur cover you. The warmth from his body radiated around you. Turning away from him, you let sleep overcome you.

 

* * *

A gruff grunt brought you out of a deep slumber. You back stiffened as you realized a hand was lifting the skirt of your dress to your hips. Another covered your mouth as your lung expanded ready to fuel a scream.

“Shhh….if you scream, no one will help you. They’d probably want to watch. I just want to bring you pleasure. Pretend I am your old lover. You’ve been touched before?”

Trembling, you shook your head. You’d never given your favors freely and everyone knew if they tried to take them, their presence would not be allowed in the only tavern for miles.

“No? What a shame,” he whispered. “It will limit what we can do until we reach home. You need to be able to ride a horse more than I need you to ride me. Soon enough though.”

His hand reached between your legs. Thighs clenched together, he easily spread them, inserting his leg between them, opening you before him. His hand cupped your cunt. Fingers spreading your lips, stroking the folds until they were sleek and wet. You whimpered against his palm pressed against your mouth.

“See how good, I can make you feel. How wet you get for me?”

You’d never been touched this way. You didn’t understand how your body could enjoy something so wrong. In the past, you never comprehended why so many women chose to be whores. If this was a taste of laying with a man, their choice made a little more sense. But this wasn’t your choice, and you hated your faithless body responding to him.

The touch of his strong fingers was soft and deliberate. Each stroke stoked a warmth deep in your abdomen where a fevered heat bloomed throughout your body. Your hips rocked, whether to escape him or seek him out, you did not know. He found your most sensitive place, circling it until you felt something building inside you. Scared and curious at the new sensations, you fought the feelings threatening to overcome you.

Tormund’s fingers left your clit, sinking, first one then two into your cunt. His palm pressed against your mound as he moved inside you. Logical thoughts were pushed from your mind as your hips rolled craving the pressure and fulfilment his hand promised with each thrust.

“Yes,” he hissed in your ear. “This is how you move when I’m inside you.”  

Your breath hitched, back arched as your muscles contracted, spasming around his fingers until you were left gasping for breath. A feeling of peacefulness surrounded you, lulling you into a false sense of safety. Now was not the time to contemplate shame. Now was not the time to think of sin. Now was only the time to drift away into the oblivion your release had provided.

* * *

 

Your life for the next two weeks was much in the same. You ignored Tormund the best you could during the day, pretending the night before had never happened. Acting as if your nipples didn’t harden when his hand brush the underside of your breast. Disregarding how wet you became if his hands rested low on your abdomen.

Every night his hands did deliciously wicked things to you. You tried not to give in. Tried not to enjoy it. Every night you failed.

What kind of woman allows herself to be pleasured by the man who took her prisoner? How had you fallen so low? Did the memory of your father, your friends, your entire village mean so little to you? The tears you still shed felt shallow next to the knowledge that the man whose hands took their lives also made you weep with ecstasy.

Tormund was not an easy many to understand. He spent the days sitting behind you telling you outlandish tales and singing bawdy songs. He tried his best to be witty and charming. He didn’t seem to mind that you rarely spoke. As long as you answered his questions and followed his commands. When you didn’t, his displeasure was fearsome. You’d seen what he was capable of. It was easier to give him what he wanted. If only you knew how much he wanted.

You sat alone watching the Wildlings break camp around you. Ygritte took a seat on a tree stump as she shoved a batch of new arrows in the dirt.

“Where’s your man?” she asked, plucking an arrow from the ground and sharpening its edge.

“He’s not my man.” You glared in the direction Tormund had wandered off towards.

“Oh, he’s not?” The young woman laughed. “He took you. He’s kept you. That makes you his woman and him your man. Has he fucked you yet?”

You felt your mouth fall open, eyebrows raising to your hairline as you whipped around fast enough to strain your neck.

“I’ll take it from those big doe eyes that he hasn’t. Well, he’s probably behind those trees fucking his fist…or another woman.” She threw an arrow on to her growing pile and plucked a new one to work on.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks. Stomach churned, bilious and sour. The thought of him with someone else had never crossed your mind.

She leaned towards you. “If he’s not your man, why did your face just turn green?”  She sat back, a smug satisfied grin stretching across her face as she watched you. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You weren’t jealous, you told yourself. It didn’t matter what Tormund did. Or who. But the thought of him with another hurt just the same. He made it seem like he cared for you, giving you the best bites of dinner, making sure you were warm at night, and not once had he sought his own release after giving you pleasure. Was it because someone else was doing it for him?

Being special to him was your assurance of safety. You knew the only reason no violence had befallen you was because of him. What would happen to you if he didn’t want you any longer?

“You don’t realize how lucky you are. You’ve got yourself a good raider, a good hunter, a good man. A man who’ll provide well for you and you think he’s scum,” Ygritte snarled.

You stared at her. How could she not understand? “He helped murder everyone I’ve ever known.”

“So did I. So did all of us. Doesn’t make us bad people. We’re just doing what we need to do to survive. Maybe your people should have been better prepared to fight.”

“Prepared to fight? They were farmers not warriors. You didn’t have to k—”

“Ah, here he comes. Looking mighty relaxed.” Ygritte picked up all her arrows and moved towards Tormund, pausing to talk to him.

You ignored the way your stomach fluttered when he smiled at you and winked. He was your captor. Your tormentor. That was it.

He reached down to help you up. You knew better than to refuse, but the thought of pushing him over the stump onto his ass made you feel slightly less hostile. He led you to the horse you shared, lifting you up before mounting behind you, following the wagons, and others as the caravan headed to its destination.

Tormund pulled you closer, whiskers and lips tickling your ear as he spoke. “There is no need for jealousy.”

“Ha. Jealous of what?” There was no mistaking the slight shake in your voice as it faltered from you false bravado.

“There’s no other woman. There’ll be no other women for me, save you.” The backs of his knuckles caressed your cheek.

“I don’t care if there are other women. I don’t care if there are hundreds. Maybe then you’d set me free.”

“Set you free? You think what you had in that shithole village was freedom? You don’t know the meaning of the word free.” His hand left your cheek to rest on your neck, applying enough pressure to cause you heart to race. “And you will never see this land again. We board ships and sail the Bay of Seals home tomorrow. You are mine. And you will always be mine.”

* * *

 

The rest of the day was silent. Knowing you had angered him both pleased and frightened you. It was at meal times that you realized the extent of his mood. Instead of feeding you from his fingers, he thrust a leg of rabbit in your hand and began eating his without ceremony.

It was the first night he didn’t touch you. He turned away from you, but rolled over wrapping his arms around you when you shivered from the frigid night air. You lay staring at the stars, willing yourself to close your eyes and sleep, but rest remained elusive. A need you had never felt before created an ache that would not subside. Pressing your thighs together and pushing thoughts of strong fingers between your legs away from your mind did nothing to alleviate it, making comfort impossible to find.

“If you don’t stop wiggling your ass, I’m going to take it as an invitation,” Tormund growled through gritted teeth.

You froze immediately. Surely, you didn’t want him to touch you. Your body had just been trained to expect it when it was time for sleep. It was a reaction. It wasn’t true desire. Was it?

There was a huff behind you as he adjusted his position. “Stupid, girl. You don’t even know what you want, do you?”

The hard truth was you didn’t. Did you truly want to travel South? It had been your plan for years. But would working in an inn day in and day out for the rest of your life really be fulfilling? You had given up the dreams of marriage and children, telling yourself it was something you had never wanted to begin with. Being owned by another man, chosen by your father, would have been worse than being your father’s slave for his lifetime.

You had noticed some curious things about the Wildlings though. The women were outspoken. Some even seemed to have leadership roles. You had never seen a woman command such respect before. They were fierce and skilled with weapons. It might have seemed like a simple solution for Ygritte to suggest the farmers arm themselves…but none of the men her village would have ever put a sword or spear into the hands of their wives and daughters.

What manner of life would you have beyond the wall besides cold? You hadn’t even thought about it. But it couldn’t be better than your life had been or could be if you ever made it as far south as Winterfell, could it?

You closed your eyes tight, willing yourself to stop thinking about possibly accepting your fate with Tormund. Being his property, doing gods know what for him, and facing the unknown in a land filled with Wildlings. You didn’t know which of those scared you the most.

* * *

You felt as if you had just fallen asleep when rough hands sat you up and patted your cheeks. It was still dark, but the camp was alight with activity.

“We leave soon. We’ll reach the shore in a few hours and set sail,” Tormund said as he took the fur you had been sleeping under and rolled it up.  

A short while later, you found yourself back on the horse. Without thinking, you settled yourself side saddle, wrapped your arms around Tormund’s waist, and leaned your head against his chest. Sleep was more important than pride especially if you only had a few hours to your last chance before leaving your home forever.

* * *

The Bay of Seals was nothing like you had ever seen before. The water went on forever it seemed. The Wildlings had managed to get some boats. You watched the waves wash upon the shore as boats were filled with the plunders of the raids. The big debate was whether to slaughter the goats now or somehow get them on a boat too.

You could see the wall in the distance. It was a fearsome sight. What lay beyond the towering ice scared you far more than barrier itself. You made your way south towards some trees on hill in the distance. There was so much commotion and work to do that you might be able to escape without detection. Maybe even get a head start on the other side of the hill out of sight.

No sooner had you reached the trees than you became aware of someone following you. You couldn’t run. It would only draw attention that you were doing something you shouldn’t be doing. You turned to face Tormund but were met with a face familiar to you. Oryn, was tall and thin. His hair was scraggly down to his shoulders.

“Where’s the pretty little kneeler going?” he asked, never leaving yours.

“I needed some privacy,” you answered.

“Maybe. Maybe you were trying to run again.” He took a step closer. “You know what happens when a man can’t keep a woman? Other men can claim them. Tormund’s been too soft with you. I think it’s time someone treated you like the kneeler you are. On your knees girl.”

“No.” Tremors shook your body. The thumping of your heart was all you could hear as you tried to think. You should never have tried to leave again. You should have known this would happen.

“No? You think you have a choice? I’m gonna fuck you bloody the way Tormund should have.”

A scream ripped from you throat as you turned and sprinted away from the man.  There was no out running the man behind you. You knew it, but you pushed yourself to keep going. Prolonging the inevitable.

A hand gripped your neck, pulled you off your feet before you were slammed to the cold ground. All the air seemed to leave your lungs as you rolled down the hill. You tried to rise, but were once more sent down with a vicious back-handed slap across your face. Blood dripped in your mouth from your freshly split lip. Fingers dug in the ground as turned to crawl away. A kick to your stomach flipped you to your back once more. Staring up through the pain, you saw the malice in his eyes as he knelt between your legs tugging at his pants. Tears flowed down your cheeks. His cracked teeth showed through his thin lips as they spread in an evil grin. His victorious countenance faltered as he let out a grunt and fell on top of you.

You waited for him to make his move. For the pain to start. But it never came. You pushed his weight off of you, scrambled out from under his body and saw an axe buried deep in his back. Scanning the area, you find the source of your salvation as your eyes met Tormund’s.

He approached Oryn, placing a foot on his back and pulled the axe from his back. “Never liked him much. Now I know why.” He lowered himself in front of you. “Are you hurt?”

You stared at this man who had so scared you when you first saw him. His eyes filled with worry as he saw blood on your lips. His fingers ghosted over your cheek which you were sure was swelling. He didn’t have to save you. You had made it clear that you did not want to be with him. Did not want him. And yet, here he was taking care of you with a tenderness you had not known since the death of your mother.

Gingerly, you raised yourself to your knees. You inched your way towards Tormund who remained still. Your arms reached up around his neck and you buried your face in his shoulder and shook with sobs. Sobs of relief and of remorse.

His arms wrapped around you, a large hand resting on your head. “Tears. There’s no need for tears. I told you before I take care of what’s mine. I won’t let any harm come to you.” He tried to pry you off of him but you clung tighter. “Shh,” he tried to soothe. He finally cradled you in his arms and rose.

You cried the entire walk back to the shore. He sat you on the back of a now empty wagon, thumbs wiping away tears. He lifted your chin. “Eastwatch-by-the-Sea is a day’s walk that way. You make think those crows would help you, but they’re mostly rapists and murders now. Worse than old Oryn. It would take you weeks to get to the next village to south alone on foot. Or you can come with me.”

Your brows knitted as you listened. He was giving you a choice? “Murdered, raped, starved, or slave? Those are my choices?” you asked weakly.

“Slave? Who said slave?” He crossed his arms. His glare made you hug your knees to your chest.

You looked at him confused. “What else would I be?”

“Wife. We are Free Folk. We don’t own people. We take what we want. I wanted you the first minute I saw you and knew you were meant to be mine when you slashed at me with my dagger.” He chuckled. “It’s not an easy life, but I can make sure you are safe and keep you warm at night. But you have to choose now.”

You had to choose?  But what kind of choice was that? Run to the castle and hope they didn’t turn you away for being a woman or rape you because you were? Walk for weeks trying to find civilization without knowing what manner of beasts and villains you would find on the way? Or to agree to go willingly with Tormund. To be his wife?

“Ugh, woman. You think too much.”

His mouth was on yours in an instant. His tongue part your lips, fingers pulling your hair to angle your head. You felt your knees lower, legs spreading wider over the edge of the wagon as he stepped between, his hips resting against your inner thighs. His hands lowered, grabbing your ass, pulling closer until you felt the hard length of his erection pressing against you. A moan escaped your lips as he rubbed against your pussy until your body rocked against his.

He broke the kiss. “Tell me.” He kissed your neck, his hand cupping your breast, pinching your nipple as it hardened under his touch.

“I’ll go with you,” you answered breathlessly.

“Then let’s go before I take your maidenhead in broad daylight on the back of this wagon in front of everyone.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tormund had left you a few minutes ago. You remained perched on the wooden planks of the cart and waited. Without the haze of lust clouding your judgment, the ramifications of your decisions began to clear.

You had agreed to live beyond the wall with a man who partook in the slaughter of your village. You would live life as a wildling. You would be his wife. Forever.

Questions flooded your mind until panic pounded in your chest. Would you become a killer too? Driving swords and arrows throw the hearts of innocents? Where would you live? Would you have a house? Or would you be sleeping under the stars and in caves? How could you have done this to yourself? But what other option was there?

Night’s Watch wouldn’t protect or help you. You knew that most were former criminals. You didn’t know how to survive in the wild alone. How would you eat if you tried to travel south? How would you protect yourself?

Tormund returned his arms full. “I was gone for minutes and already you are worrying again. You have nothing to worry about anymore.”

“I have everything to worry about. I don’t know anything about where we are going or how we are going to live. What if I’m not suited for it? What if I don’t like it?”

“If you look for things to hate, you will find them. It’s different but different doesn’t always mean bad. All you have to do is let me take care of you.”

You thought about his words. No one had taken care of you since you were a small child. Could you give up control that easily? Could you forgive and forget in return for what? Affection?

Tormund handed you a bundle of fur. “You need to put these on before we go.”

“You had these this whole time?” You held up a pair of breeches and coat in the Free Folk style. “I could have been warm this whole time?”

A sly grin raised his cheeks, crinkling his eyes in an alarmingly charming way. “Now you can’t tell me I didn’t keep you warm at night” He leaned against the wagon as he watched you slip off your boots.

“Pants would have required less effort to keep me warm.” You shimmied the garment up your legs under your woolen dress. You put your bag on the wagon, taking your cloak off and folding it as small as you could to fit in inside.

“I disagree. Pulling those down would have been damn harder than lifting those skirts.” He helped you into the foreign coat, tying leather straps, pushing wooden toggles through holes. He leaned close, warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispered. “And wearing those pants isn’t nearly as enjoyable as my fingers working your cunt until your blood boils. Now is it?”

You pull the hood over your head and lifted your face to meet his. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You pushed past him, nudging him with your shoulder, knowing he could stop you if he wanted.

A gruff chuckle followed you. “Then I’ll have to remind you. Because I remember. I remember how wet and warm you were. How you bucked against my hand. I remember how you tasted when I licked your juices from my fingers. I’m keen to drink from the source.”

You stopped and turned. Surely, he couldn’t mean… Stricken, you stared at Tormund and watched his eyes dance with amusement before his head fell back and a barking laugh was sent to the heavens.

“Come, my maiden fair. The longer we delay, the longer I have to wait to slake my thirst.”

The waves rocked the boats, jostling you side to side. The land you called your home was disappearing from view as men stowed oars and hoisted small sails. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your last glimpse of the North.

No longer would you be a Northerner. No longer would you be surrounded by familiar small folk with the customs and traditions that had survived centuries. No longer would you be able to change your future as you had once been. You would be trapped forever, barred from the lands of your birth by The Wall.

Breathing came in short shallow bursts as realization dawned. What had you done? You looked to Tormund and the others around you. How could you have decided that going with killers was safer than making your way south on your own?

A sob broke the damn that held your tears. For the first time, you properly grieved for everything you had lost. You wanted to jump in the freezing waters and swim back to your home. You didn’t need to know how to hunt to survive. You could scavenge from the earth. Berries and greens would be enough until you found civilization.

Muscular arms suddenly surrounded you, pulling you close. You pushed against the broad chest, struggling in vain against his hold. Tormund’s hand rested on your crown, laying your head over his heart. “Shhhh……” he soothed.

Tears spilled faster, not caring about the spectacle you had created. You wanted them to know how they had hurt you, hoping they felt guilt. But they did not.

A man stood next to Tormund, patted him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. They always fight and cry for the first few weeks. Keep ‘em satisfied, and they’ll soon forget why they cried in the first place.”  He chuckled and shuffled off.

Tormund held you, never faltering. Never telling you to stop. Allowing you to cry until your swollen eyes had no more tears to shed. Weak and growing colder as you sailed further north, you let yourself be coddled, trying not to take comfort or pleasure in the attention you received. But failing to find a reason not to when you had no alternative but to accept the consequences of your decisions. It had been your decision, right?

* * *

Nothing you had seen of the land beyond the wall on your journey had done anything to quell the regrets that still pained your heart. It was harsh and unforgiving. The journey on foot with sleds took so much longer than the caravan of wagons and horses. The goats that made the journey by ship were slaughtered. Their meat laid on the ground to freeze. Travel through the Haunted Forest reminded you of the scary old tales people would tell in the tavern after an evening of drinking when only those with no gold to entertain themselves with women would remain.

Cold could not begin to describe the bone-deep pain the weather produced. You didn’t know if you would survive the entire trip. The only moments you found relief from the freezing temperature and the mourning of your former life was at night when Tormund’s hands touched you in ways your body craved all day and kissed you with a passion you did not know was possible. His hands would now guide yours to his cock, showing you how to stroke and squeeze his shaft until he growled, rolled over, and spilled his seed on the ground outside of the furs you shared for warmth. Bringing a man as powerful as Tormund to heel in the night was the first taste of power you had ever had, and it was addicting.

* * *

Pillars of smoke billowed from fires in between tents. Meat hung in the open air from wooden frames. Animal hides stretched between poles waved in the wind like crude banners. Faces lined with fur looked up from their jobs as you made your way through the small shelters to a section in the center of large full-domed structures. Children darted through the crowds. The company of Free Folk separated, small groups peeling away taking their plunder to be distributed and stored appropriately.

Finally, you and Tormund alone were walking towards a large dwelling somewhat sequestered from the others. He grabbed a nearby torch and lit it on one of the fires a short distance away. He lifted the flap and motioned for you to enter. You walked through a low tunnel that emptied into a large circular room. Sunlight shone through the seams of the walls. A large wooden bed frame with a straw mattress and furs was to one side. A table and short stools to the other. Weapons lay against the framework of the walls. More furs on the ground. Nothing about this place said “home.” There were no personal touches everything was functional. No colors but shades of greys and browns. Nothing that would have been a comfort you. No wooden walls or windows. No doors. Nothing that was familiar.

Tormund walked past you lighting the hanging metal braziers that hung from the large poles holding up the hides that sheltered you from elements. Three large poles, you hoped were made of wood, stood in the center of the room, a small hearth lay in between them. Tormund lit the hearth and turned to face you.

You were suddenly aware that you were alone with the man who was, for all intents and purposes, your husband. Your fingers clutched the fabric of your coat to your chest as you took a step back. You didn’t know what to do or what was about to happen.

“You look like a hare caught in a trap. Are you going to try and run again?” His steps towards you were slow and cautious. “Do I need to tie you to the bed? Don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy that.”

Shaking your head, you questioned, “Where would I go?”

“True. I’m going to leave you here for a little while. I’ll be back soon.”  He approached you slowly, lifting your chin, he asked, “You try and run, I’ll tie you that bed for a week. Do you understand?”

Nodding, you watched him leave as you removed your satchel, placing it along the wall, and sat on the bed. Observing your new home, you wondered how you could ever feel happy here. The land, the village, the people, all looked so desolate. Grief and regret filled your soul while fear clouded your mind as you stared at the fire and wondered what would become of you.

* * *

“Is it as bad as all that?” Tormund asked, towering over you, his eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed thin.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t heard him return. Eyes cast downward, shame heated your face, knowing you were offending him. Remembering his words from your journey, you replied, “It’s just different. Different doesn’t have to be bad.”

He shook his head and knelt in front of you. “You are a terrible liar. But we can find ways to make this your home. Our home.” The backs of his fingers stroked your tear-stained cheek. “You tell me what you want and need. You want heavy Southron furniture, I can make that. You want cloth to make pretty dresses, I can get it for you. All you have to do is ask.”

You stared at the man in front of you. Generosity was not a quality you were used to. Your father had hoarded any money he made away or squandered it depending on his mood. Your needs were met but the thought of being gifted with cloth for a whim was utterly foreign. How could a man who barely knew you have more consideration for you than a man who fathered and raised you?

Standing, he offered his hands to you. “Now, come with me, and I’ll give you want you really need.”

Placing your hands in his, you let him lead you out of the tent and through the camp. You walked a short distance until you reached a rocky ridge. “Come,” He said ducking low to enter an opening in the rocks. Gripping his arm, you followed him down a stony path. The roar of rushing water filled your ears as you turned a corner and beheld a waterfall bathed in sunlight. Steam swirled around a hot spring, heated the air around you. For the first time in what seemed like forever, you smiled. It was beautiful.

“There are many hot springs around this area. This one is my favorite. Soak, wash, rest your body in the hot water.” He turned and started towards the cave’s entrance.

“Where are you going?” you asked, confused. As much as you had been dreading the marriage act, you did not wish to prolong your agony further. It was best to get it over with.

“Eager little vixen. I’ll return. You have no worries there.” And he left you alone again.

Quickly discarding your heavy clothes, you stepped into the warm water, relishing the heat. Standing under the waterfall, you massaged your scalp, letting the water flow over you. You ran your hands over your face, down your neck, and over your body cleaning as best you could without a rag to scrub. It had been weeks since you had been able to bathe properly. Finding a rock to perch on, you leaned back against the pool’s edge, eyes closed. As your muscles relaxed, you felt the stress wash away with all the grime of your journey leaving you renewed and restored.

“You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”

Your eyes flew open and shut just as quick, but not before you saw Tormund, stepping into the water his body bared before you. You turned away, your arms crossing over your breasts. No one had seen you naked since you were a babe.

His laugh echoed in the small cave. “You’ve not seen a naked man before?”

“Only from the waist up,” you managed to squeak, lowering your body further into the water.

“Well, that’s unlucky. Now you won’t know how impressive I truly am.”

The sound of falling water was disrupted as Tormund stepped under the cascade. You glimpsed a look over your shoulder. His muscular arms raised high as his hands ran through his ginger locks. A trail of hair lead from his chest down his stomach, growing brighter in color the further it reached. You were thankful for the water that obscured his form below his hips. Impressive indeed. You turned away, wondering how you were going to get out of the water and dressed without being seen.

Suddenly, fingers slid down your shoulder, spurring you forward into the side of the pool, clutching at the ledge. His hands closed around your upper arms, turning your body until you face him.

“Do you know what happens between a man and a woman?” he asked, his gravelly voice filled with concern.

Admiring the rock formation to your left, you nodded.

“Then why” –his hands gently pulled at yours as you resisted— “are you trying to hide from me?”

“We—we’re naked.” Your whisper was barely audible above the noise from the spring. How did he not understand that this was wrong?

“And how do the Southerner’s fuck? With their clothes on?” His laugh died as you nodded once more. “You’re not serious.”

“The people I—I’ve seen in the alleys were always clothed. And my friends said, well, that nightclothes only needed lifting for marital duties to be performed. No one ever said naked.”

“Duties?” he scoffed. “It’s a good thing I carried you off. A body as beautiful as yours should be worshipped not hidden beneath layers of wool and linen.” He drew your arms away from your body, wrapping them around his neck. His hands slide down your back and pulled you against him. Your nipples contracted against the friction of chest hair, stomach tightening as you realized his hardened manhood was pressing into you. The foreign sensation of skin on skin created a heat between your legs, an ache that was all too familiar.

Tormund bent his head, his lips met yours, his tongue coaxing you into a series of slow leisurely kisses. His hands gripped your backside, lifting you before sliding to your thighs, opening them until your legs were wrapped around his waist. He tilted your hips, your pussy sliding along the length of his cock, his girth spreading you open, giving your clit the pressure and attention it craved.  

He growled as you mewled against his lips, rocking your slick body against his. He set you on the ledge, his kisses traveling from your mouth, to your neck nipping and sucking, leaving a trail of evidence of his affections in their wake. His hands cupped the weight your breasts, lifting and massaging, before bringing his mouth to your nipples, taking them each in turn between his lips and teeth, until your head fell back with a moan.

Disappointment momentarily flitted across your mind as his mouth left your body, followed by panic as his beard and teeth grazed your inner thigh. You looked down to see him between your legs. Spreading them wide.

“Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. Let’s see if it’s the sweetest.”

Before you could protest, his tongue swept through your folds, his eyes never leaving yours. His beard created a friction so delicious, your hips rolled instinctively. Riding his face, every stroke of his tongue ending with a small flick of your clit that was never enough. He spread your lips with his thumbs as he licked and nibbled at your delicate flesh before sucking gently on your aching bud. Your cries echoed in the cave, as he slipped his fingers inside you, pumping in rhythm with the motions of his mouth. Your thighs shook and squeezed his head as your orgasm rippled through your body.

He cradled you in his arms, kissing your fevered browed, as you struggled to fill your lungs with oxygen. He carried you away from the warm pool, to a small alcove lit with torches. Large pelts of soft fur covered the ground. Lowering you down, Tormund loomed over you, kneeling between your legs, his pupils dilated gazing at you spread beneath him. Your back arched at the sight of him stroking his cock, rubbing it against your pussy, coating it in your arousal.

You felt him poised at your entrance and waited for the pain you knew would follow. Your fingers gripped his forearms, nails digging into his skin. Pressure, stretching, a slight burn gave way to fulfillment as he slowly sheathed himself to the hilt.

He groaned, “Gods, you are perfect, woman.”

He pulled out and thrust once more. The motion, a frictionless glide, increased in speed and force with each snap of his hips. It was too much and not enough. You wanted to scream for more and yet, beg for mercy. But there would be no mercy.

Tormund reached between you, his thumb found your clit, rubbing it with circular motions. Your hands gripped the fur beneath you. Overstimulated, hypersensitive it took only a few more strokes before your second climax contracted your muscles, squeezing his cock as he prolonged each spasm with his thrusts.

Limp and replete, he rolled you over to your stomach. Grabbing your hips, he pulled you back on your hands and knees. A gasp melted into a low moan, as he pushed inside you from behind. He seemed longer, thicker from the new angle.

His hand grabbed your hair at the root, lifting your head. “You are mine.” His words punctuated with each pump of his hips. “Say it,” he growled. His pace was as pleasurable as it was punishing.

“I’m yours,” you replied, your voice a breathless whine between keening cries of ecstasy. “Yours.”

Tormund’s hand left your hair and enclosed around your hips in a vice-like grip. His thrusting lost all sense of pace and rhythm as he buried himself deep within you. His body shook with the force of his orgasm, his cock pulsing as he came in short bursts.

You collapsed on the fur beneath you, panting, exhausted, and satisfied in a way you had never imagined. This was not how wifely duties had been portrayed. You felt immediately sorry for your friends, grateful for never having known coupling as a chore then shame for thinking ill of the dead.

Kissing the crease on your forehead, Tormund said, “I just fucked the life out of me, and you’re laying there looking guilty. C’mere, woman. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t enjoy that.” He pulled you to his side and draped another fur on top of you.

“I—did,” you confessed. “I just can’t help but feel bad for everyone who told me it was tedious and an unfortunately necessary part of marriage. How? Why?”

He chuckled and replied, “Those Southern twats care for nothing but their own pleasure. Free Folk don’t see women as weak and useless. We value our women for more than their cunts. Although I will admit I do appreciate that pretty little pussy, you have. Sweet as honey, and tighter than—”

His words ended with a small yelp, as you pinched his nipples. Covering your hands with his, he smiled as he placed kisses on your fingers. “You pinch my nipples again, and I’ll take you over my knee and spank you like the little imp you are.”

The image of you laid across his lap, his hands slapping your exposed backside, did not strike terror in your heart the way it should have. You squirmed against his body, fingers gently exploring the hair covering his chest.

“Fucking hell, that was supposed to be a threat you little minx.” He stared down at you. “Stop moving. You keep doing that and I’ll have your ankles above your head before you’ve had time to mend. You need to let your body rest.” He rolled onto his back, shaking his head at the ceiling.

Huffing, you settled your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes wondering how you had gone from fear to regret to contentment with the man next to you in such a short time.


	3. Chapter 3

Sun still shone through the ceiling of the cavern. Tormund lay by your side; a slight snore accompanying the rise and fall of his chest. Stretching slightly, you felt a tinge of soreness and the damp evidence of your consummation between your legs. Pulling away, trying not to disturb the sleeping giant next you, you freed yourself from the protection of his arms and the warmth of the fur blankets.

Every step to the pool reminded you that you were no longer a maiden. You were now a wife. You always thought that being married and belonging to a man would bring you a sense of belonging and a peace of mind, knowing what was expected of you. In the North, you would have been expected to maintain the home, prepare the food, and bear the children. Here, you were still adrift in uncertainty. And Tormund was your only anchor.

Washing your body, hands slipping over your wet skin, you couldn’t help but feel different. Your body was no longer a vessel to move you about from place to place. A thing that needed only food and water for survival. Your body was raw with new needs, a temple awaiting the worship of your one devoted follower. Survival was the furthest thing from your thoughts.

You cupped the weight of your breasts, lifting and squeezing them before trailing your fingers down your stomach between your legs, imagining his touch. It took you no time to find the sensitive nub that Tormund lavished attention on.

“Starting without me, I see. Need any help?” He stood above you, reflected light dancing on his muscled body, illuminating scars you had felt but never seen. Between his thighs, his arousal was obvious.

“Tormund!” Your hands left your clit, covering your breasts in futility.

“Screaming my name before I even touch you. Even I didn’t know I was that good.” He stepped into the hot spring, his hands disappearing beneath the water, ripples emanating from the motion of his arm moving up and down. “Are you sore?”

You nodded unsure of where to look or what to do.  You stared at your fingers clasped in front of you. Wrinkles had set in around your fingertips. They felt spongey as you rubbed them together. His calloused fingers wrapped around yours, pulling your arms around his neck. Bending down, he pressed his lips lightly against yours, your lips parting, willing him to deepen the kisses. His mouth moved to your neck, kissing and suck at your racing pulse. His hand slid between your legs. Grasping at his wrist, you tried to pull his searching fingers away from your body, knowing you should take time to heal.

“Shhh. Let me make you feel good.” His voice vibrated against your skin. His fingers parted your folds, sliding effortlessly in the warm waters. His light touches glanced over your tender bud until it ached with need. Frustrated, you thrust your hips forward, searching for more friction. “Ah, greedy girl. You get what I give you. Unless you want to beg.”

Pride bristled inside you. If anyone was going to beg, it would be the Wildling man in front of you. Wrapping your hand around his cock, you slowly slid down the shaft, twisting your wrist at the base before cupping the soft sack underneath.

“Fuck—” he growled between gritted teeth as his hands fell from your body.

You worked his cock as he had taught you on the long journey here. Long, slow strokes. Slight squeeze at the head. Small splashes of water kept time with the rhythm of your hands. A guttural moan echoed on the walls followed by a growl as you dropped your hands and took two steps back.

“Beg,” you said, a sly grin creeping across your cheeks.

Glassy eyes focused and fixated on you with a murderous glare. He reached for you quick as trap snapping around its prey, spinning you away from him, pinning you against his chest. “You’re forgetting one thing,” he rasped. One hand held your wrists behind your back, the other circled around your throat.  His cock pressed in the valley of your backside, sliding up and down as he ground against you. “I take what I want.”

Your breasts swayed with the strength of his thrusts against your slick body. His hand lowered from your neck over your chest, cupping the mounds, your nipples peaking against his rough palms. You twisted in his grip, fighting against him, eager to be free, to touch him, to feel him inside you. Need and want negating any fear of pain.

“Please. Tormund, please,” you moaned, arching into his hold.

“No. You’ll have to beg prettier than that.” He released you and waded through the water, lifting himself on the ledge. “Come here and show me how much you want my cock.”

You moved towards him, drinking in the sight of his body; thick, dick erect and hard between strong spread thighs. Your hand reached out to grasp him, ready to demonstrate your desire.

“No. With your mouth,” he commanded, his gravelly voice thick with lust.

You pulled back, staring, mouth agape, into the amused eyes of the man above you. Surely, he couldn’t mean…visions of him between your legs, feasting on you flashed before your eyes. And you knew, he meant exactly what he had said.

“You’re going to have to open wider than that.” His tongue darted out, following the curve of his grin, wetting his lips. The challenge in his eyes was clear.

Refusing to be the source of his amusement, you took a deep breath and licked him base to tip. Trying to mimic the motions he used on you, licking and kissing his shaft.

A sharp intake of breath and a slow hiss sounded above you. “Gods, woman, take me in your mouth.”

Realization dawned as you began to comprehend what he wanted. Your mouth encircled the head, taking it in your mouth before you pulled back with a soft popping sound.

“More.” He leaned back, his hands resting on the rock beneath him, head tilted back, bathed in sunlight.

You took him into your mouth once more, working your way down his shaft, lips pressing and sliding against the rigid veins. The grunts and moans, emanating from Tormund, spurred you on as you experimented with swirling your tongue and tilting your head to see what elicited the best response.

His breathing was ragged. His hips rocking slightly. “Just like that. Fuck, don’t stop.”

But you did. You pulled away and swam to the other edge of the spring, giggling at the eruption of curses following you. Turning to face your enraged husband, you said one word. “Beg.”

He was on you before you could mount a proper retreat. His arms lifting you, spreading your legs, knees hooked over his elbows. He gripped your hips, pulling you down on his cock. He raised you up then pushed you down again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, using him as leverage, rolling your hips, so your clit rubbed against him. You rode him, relishing the control you had, increasing your pace, chasing that feeling that would grant you release. Finally, your body clenched around his pulsing member as your orgasm crashed through you.

Panting, you nuzzled into Tormund’s neck as your legs slid down his body and toes reach the rocky bottom of the pool. His arms steadied you as your knees faltered to hold your weight.

“Hells, woman. I always thought I die fighting not fucking, but you may just kill me yet.” He laughed as he led you both out of the spring and back to the alcove. Handing you a swath of linen, you dried yourselves.

Pulling on your clothes on, you thought of the stark cold tent that awaited you. The uncertainty returning and the weight of your new world falling heavy once more upon your shoulders. “I wish we could just stay here forever.”

Tormund’s hands cupped your face, lifting it until your eyes met. “You just teased the fiercest warrior of the Free Folk. You’re brave enough to leave this cave.” He pulled your coat closed, working the wooden toggles then set about rolling up the furs that had provided you comfort and reprieve from the harsh climate that awaited you. “Besides, I’m fucking starving. A man can only survive on pussy for so long.”

Dousing the torches, Tormund led the way carrying the rolls of furs under his arm. The wind bit at your cheeks as you reached the mouth of the cavern. Yearning for the warmth of the spring, you forced yourself to follow your husband’s footsteps towards your home.

Small groups congregated outside their tents, heads turning in intrigue as you approached. They all knew. Knew what you and Tormund had been doing and approved by the smirks on their faces. You tried to fight the shame and humiliation you felt at being the center of their gossip. You had always taken pride and being the one virtuous girl in your village. Knowing you were above reproach and derision. How far you had fallen in a short time.

A gruff voice from the left yelled, “How does she compare to bear, Tormund?” A cacophony of laughter filled the camp. Heat spread across your face, your stomach twisting.

Tormund pulled you close, hugging your shoulder with his free arm. Mirth and merriment resonated from his words as he shouted for all to hear, “The bear was tame compared to my woman. She’s twice as soft, but you should see the claw marks down my back.”

Your glare was met with uproarious laughter. How could he speak of such a personal matter, of you, so cavalierly? Raising your arm, you slammed your elbow into his side, wanting him to feel any sort of discomfort. Unfortunately, the furs and skins lining your clothing softened the impact to more of a nudge than a solid blow. You tried to wriggle out from his arm, turning your body to break his grip, the sounds of more laughter spurring you on. Tormund released you, bent forward and scooped you up over his shoulder, yelling in victory as he slapped your ass before picking up the furs he momentarily dropped. The crowd cheered as he carried you away.

He lowered you in front of your tent, pushing you forward through the opening and following you inside. The embers of the fires still burned but barely. You set about adding wood the fire in the center hearth and the hanging braziers.

“You’re angry?” Tormund asked sitting on a stool. He pulled out a sword and a stone. He watched you busy yourself around your new home while he sharpened his weapon.

You grabbed a deep pot. “Why did you talk that way about me? About us? What happens between us should be private.” Circling in place, you asked, “Where is the water?”

“Frozen, outside. Fill it with snow and melt it. Free Folk aren’t ashamed of our passions or pleasure.  And if you want privacy, you’ll have to learn not to scream in a cave that echoes.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks to your ears once more. Had everyone heard you?  You left the tent; the cold air soothing your flaming face and filled the pot with fresh snow. There was going to more to adjust to than you had realized. Entering once more, you hung the vessel over the fire. “Meat? Potatoes?”

“I’ll fetch you some meat. There are roots and vegetables in the box just behind you.” He left the tent briefly, allowing you to have a few moments to compose yourself. The muscle memory of preparing food gave you a comfort and purpose you had missed in the last few weeks. This you knew and understood.

Tormund returned with a hunk of something fresh enough to not be frozen through yet. You thought it best not to question the source. He sat back, seeming to enjoy your show of domesticity. The snow had melted but was not yet hot. You skewered the meat and gathered your spices from the bag, sprinkling some on the meat sparingly and rubbing it in. You had to make them last.

“Wait.” Your brows knitted in concentration, trying to recall what you had heard from the crowd, “Did you—did you make love to a bear?”

Tormund head flew back with a bark of a laugh. “Make love? No.” Setting down his sword, he walked behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You are the only one I’ve ever made love to.”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “I find that hard to believe.” You peeked into the pot to see if your water was boiling yet. Bubbles had yet to break the surface.

He spun you around, his fingers tilting your chin to face him. “I have fucked many times, but believe me, you are the only one I would say I have made love to.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours.

A small sigh escaped your lips as he pulled away. The sounds of a roiling boil next you broke your respite. “I still don’t want the details of our—marriage bed to spread around for amusement.” You added the potatoes to the water. “I don’t like being laughed at or teased.”

“I seem to remember you enjoyed a fair bit of teasing in the cave,” he said, his voice low, lips ghosting over your ear.

Spinning in place, you shoved him with all your strength. Surprisingly, he stumbled back a step maybe even two. “That was entirely different!” you shouted, wishing you could wipe the smirk off his face.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but the crinkled lines next to his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Good to know. Teasing with my fingers is good. Teasing with my mouth, no wait, you liked that too.”

Frustration turned to annoyance at your inability to think of a witty retort or set down. But visions of Tormund teasing and pleasing you made it difficult to concentrate. You grabbed a potato and chucked it at him.

Ducking with a chuckle, Tormund retreated back to his weapons. Picking up his sword, he ran his stone along the edge, “You sure you want to start a fight, little girl?”

Rolling your eyes, you set about spreading the logs in the hearth out allowing the pot to simmer while you cooked the meat on a spit. “You don’t scare me, Tormund.” You realized it was the truth. You actually trusted the man that had captured you, the man that was now your husband. Would that trust have come so readily for a man of your father’s choosing? You chanced a glance at the man before you, fluttering in your stomach muddled your thoughts further. Nothing in your life made sense any longer.

* * *

 

Tormund stabbed his cut of meat with a knife and lifted it to his mouth, ripping a chunk off with his teeth. A pleased hum vibrated in his throat. “You didn’t lie about being a good cook. This is the finest meat I’ve tasted in ages.”

Pride heated your inside, a small smile crept across your face as you watched him devour the meal you made. A short gust of wind entered the tent as a man with dark hair crossed your threshold. Tormund turned then stood.

“Mance! Welcome, join us.” Tormund nodded to you. You rose and made a plate of meat and potatoes for the newcomer setting it in front of the stranger. “What brings you here?” your husband asked.

Mance sat and smiled at you. “I heard you had a pretty new bride. I came to give you my congratulations and I see that tales of her beauty were not exaggerated.” Mance took a bite of food, using a fork and knife. You were puzzled at his display of table manners. Who was this man?

“Aye, I caught myself a rare one indeed.” He winked at you and smiled as you glared in return. He introduced the man as Mance Rayder, The-King-Beyond-the-Wall.

“I haven’t had food this good since I snuck into a feast at Winterfell. My compliments.” He nodded at you, a gesture you returned out of politeness.

“You’ve been to Winterfell?” you asked. You had always wanted to see the ancient castle. It was said to have glass gardens and was heated by hot springs. You’d never seen a building bigger than the tavern you had lived above.

“I wasn’t always King-Beyond-The-Wall.” He laughed. “I was raised at Castle Black on the Wall. But decided I had too much of my mother in me to bend the knee for the rest of my life.” At the sight of your confusion, he quickly added, “My mother was Free Folk.”

Tormund turned to Mance and asked, “Enough flirting with my woman. What really brings you here?”

Mance set down his eating utensils and faced Tormund. “Crows. Our warg has spotted them a few days march from us. I need you to take a band of fighters and make sure they don’t find our base. I know you’ve only just returned, but I need my strongest warriors out there.”

Horrified, you watched Tormund nod and shake Mance’s hand, their forms blurring as tears threatened to fall from your eyes. He was leaving you? Alone in a camp of strangers. What would become of you? How would you survive with him here to protect you?

“I’ll take my leave. I thank you for the fine meal. You’ll lead the party tomorrow at first light.” And with that, Mance left, and soon so would Tormund.

 

Sunlight no longer shone through the small slits along the seams of the shelter surrounding you. The fires and braziers cast a warming glow that somehow made the tent seem cozier. You laid encompassed by furs and enclosed in Tormund’s arms; the heat of your bodies provided more warmth than the fires ever did.

You turned in his embrace, facing him, and leaned your head against his chest, the short springy curls tickling your cheek. “You’re really going to leave me here alone?” you whispered.

His hand traced your spine, up and down. “You won’t be alone. There’s plenty that will still be here.”

“I don’t know any of them.” Couldn’t he understand? He was the one person you knew. The only one you trusted. You pressed yourself against his body relishing his strength. Without him who were you?

“You’re stronger than you think. You’ve survived this much. Many women in your boots have chosen to wilt and die. But not you. Mance will make sure you have everything you need.”

Your fingertips followed the light lines of scars across Tormund’s chest. How many more would he return with? “Mance Rayder? He seemed nice.” You sighed, having the King-Beyond-the-Wall as an ally was a good start. “I suppose knowing, I can turn to him makes me feel a little bit better.”

Suddenly, you were on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress, Tormund looming over you. “You liked him, did you? He certainly liked you.”

“Wh-what?” You stared into the eyes of the man above you. His brows furrowed into a foreboding glare reminding you that you still did not really know the man you lived with. Your’s was not a marriage built on love or even arrangement. He was your captor first and foremost.

“Maybe I needs remind you who you belong to before I leave?” He pushed your legs apart with his knees, pressing his erection against your mound.

Comprehension dawned on you as he spoke, he was not truly angry with you. His was an anger built from jealousy. Which could only mean he was as fearful of losing you to another man as you were of losing him in battle. Instead of fighting against him, you relaxed in his grip, your legs wrapping around his waist. “I belong to you. Only you.”

His lips crashed down upon yours, his tongue delving into your mouth. His hips lifted, then snapped forward sheathing his cock to the hilt, setting a bruising pace. “Mine,” he growled as he dominated your body.

“Yours,” you keened with every thrust.  Lowering your legs, you pushed against the mattress, lifting your hips, meeting his movements with your own, drawing him deeper inside you. Your wrists were released, as Tormund grabbed your hips, rolling the two of you until you straddled him.

“Show me,” he commanded. “Show me you belong to me.”

Your thighs on either side of his hips lifted you slightly before sliding back down on his cock. His hands squeezed your breasts, pushing them together, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Leaning forward, you placed your hands on either side of Tormund’s body. Rocking, riding him, rolling your hips . He reached between you, his thumb flicking your clit, each movement shooting sparks along your spine. Your thighs shook as the muscles in your body contracted, your pussy tightening around his cock. His fingers bruised your hips as he thrust rapidly upwards, prolonging your spasms while fulfilling his own needs. Soon he shook beneath you, releasing his grasp as you fell on top of him. Your labored breathing the only sound beside the crackling of the fire, lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep was slowly lifting from your body. Rolling over, you searched for the warmth and comfort of your husband in the cold morning air. But found neither. Lifting your head, you blinked the tent into view searching for the shape of Tormund in the hazy early sun.

_He must have gone to fetch food_ , you allowed yourself to think as you pulled your heavy pants and coat over your small clothes, leaving the comfort of your furs. Maybe you could ask Tormund for some wool and knitting needles. More layers would always be welcome here if you could convince your husband to leave them on.

You busied yourself for his return. The fires had already been tended to. Fresh water melted in your clean pot. Finding a small bag of oats, you wondered if Tormund cared for porridge or preferred meat to break his fast. Eggs were probably not a foodstuff you would see often, if at all. How would you bake bread without an oven? Perhaps one had been fashioned somewhere in the camp. Would you even be able to find the ingredients you needed? Surely, the raid Tormund had found you on had provided some essentials. There was still so much you still didn’t know about your life.

As time passed, you began to fear you were waiting in vain. Tears prickled your lower lids, blurring the lines of woodgrain on the table to you stared at, strumming your fingers aimlessly, unsure of what to do with yourself. You jumped as loud deep voices boomed in passing outside. Awareness of your situation washed over you, dousing you in fear. You were alone, in a camp full of people who had considered you an enemy mere weeks ago. Whose culture and traditions were utterly foreign to you. The one man you had come to trust had abandoned you without farewell. As though you were not worthy of such afterthought.

Curling your arms in front of you, your head dropped down, nestled on your forearms. Hot tears splashed on the wood below you. Wracking sobs shook your body, as you struggled to fill your lungs.

“Well look at you,” a croaky voice spoke. “I heard you were tougher than most. I must have heard wrong.”

Your head shot up, hands swiping at the moisture clouding your vision. An older woman stood before you. Hair a mix of greys and whites. Her face was weathered especially around the eyes which stared down at you. Your throat was thick with tears as you asked, “Wh-who are you?”

“I’m Magda. Mance sent me to look after you. And it seems he was right to do so.” She sat across from you, her eyes traveling over you, appraising you. Judging you.

“Where’s Tormund?” Your spine straightened as you tried to compose yourself in front of the stranger. The last thing you needed was rumors of your behavior clouding everyone’s first impression of you.

“Did he not tell you he was leaving?” Her voice softened slightly, concerned flashed in her eyes.

You nodded, dabbing your cheeks with your sleeve. “But he d-didn’t say goodbye.” Your voice quivered as you tried not to fall into hysterics again.

“And have his last visions of you weeping? He did you both a kindness. Now dry those tears…can’t have your face freezing outside. We have work to do.” She stood from her seat, pulling out fur gloves that had been tucked in her belt and tossing them in front of you.

You took them and pushed your hands into the soft material. “Work?” you asked following her to the entrance of the tent.

She stopped short of the exit and turned. “Mance said you were a good cook? Had some herbs? Knowledge of plants?”

Nodding, you added, “I used to grow them in my window back home. My mother taught me.”

“Good. That’s a good start. We’ll have to forage for what we need, however. Come, we have a long walk ahead of us.” She walked out the tent into the frigid air, her hair flying behind her.

You paused at the threshold. You had no reason to trust this woman. No reason to follow her. But what would you do if you didn’t? Sit and cry more? Wallow in self-pity? Pulling your hood over your head, you rushed to catch up and hoped she was indeed a friend.

* * *

 

The walk was longer than you had anticipated. The sun was almost above you when you reached your destination and disappeared under the canopy of the forest. The wind that had whipped against your cheeks was lessened to a breeze by the wall of trunks surrounding you on all sides. It was a welcome reprieve from the elements. You followed Magda, listening to her describe the various leaves and plants she needed to restock her supplies as a healer. Unsure of why you were recruited to help, you were at least grateful for the distraction.

The pine needles were quickly gathered to use in teas. Moss was scraped off trunks and rocks for cleaning and packing wounds. Various plants and nettles were found under the layers of dried leaves and needles insulating the ground that could be used for tinctures and other remedies. The variety of vegetation that found ways to survive was remarkable and the uses the Free Folk had discovered equally impressive. From the tales you heard as a child, you hadn’t ever considered that they would have a society, leaders, and healers even.

Magda worked the moss off a trunk with a short blade. “Need to be ready when your husband and his group return. There’ll be injuries aplenty. Always are.” The turned her blade on the bark next. “Three little ones have fevers which means they’ll all have it soon enough. It’s a good thing you came when you did. I’ll need an extra pair of hands.”

“Why me?” you asked, spreading the dead foliage with the toe of your boot searching for glimpses of green.

Her gnarled hands placed plants in a bag. “I remember how hard it was for me to be accepted when I arrived…”

Your eyes shot up, abandoning your search in the undergrowth, taking in the woman before you. “You were captured?” With her wiry grey hair blowing gently around her fur trappings, it seemed impossible that she could have once been like you.

“Captured. Rescued. Who’s to say anymore?” She shrugged and continued, “But yes, a very long time ago, I was brought here from south of The Wall. An older woman who was like us gave me a place amongst the Free Folk that solidified my position independently of my husband. He was a skilled warrior much like yours.”

“Was?” you asked. Your heart stopped and stomach twisted as you watched her nod. Her husband was like Tormund. Did this mean his fate would also be Tormund’s?

“Killed by crows some years ago,” Magda stated, her hands still pulling at plants.

Eyebrow knitting together as you stared at her. You had heard Mance mention them before sending Tormund to hunt. “Are birds more dangerous here? I’ve heard of giants and shadowcats, but why is everyone afraid of birds?”

The old woman cackled. “Ooooh. Birds.” Her hands clutch her stomach as she leaned forward, her laughter causing labored breathing. “N-no, child. Night’s Watch. Crows we call them. They’ve made it their mission to hunt us down. Gods know why.” She wiped a tear from her eye and sighed.

_To keep you all from doing what you did to my village_ , you thought.  _A lot of good they were._

“Don’t look at me like that. The wars between the Free Folk and Southerners stretch back far longer than you or I. Do you have to like what happened to your village? No. But you have to move forward.”

The words she spoke were true. Your survival and happiness depended on it. But would you ever truly forget? Pushed from your thoughts as a new trouble crossed your mind. Worry seeped through your body as you realized Tormund wasn’t hunting animals. He was hunting humans. And humans could hunt back.

 

* * *

The next week you spent with Magda tending to the children in the camp as the fever spread just as she predicted. While wiping brows and brewing teas, you told the stories you had heard as a child of the Great Houses and Wars waged between them, Mad Kings, dragons, and Old Valyria. They reveled in the bloodshed and betrayal of Westeros. When they had heard each tale twice, the questions started from the small herd of newly mended children that seemed to flock around you whenever you walked through the camp. Where had you lived? What did you wear? What was your favorite food? Color? Flower? Dragon? King? Queen? Song?

Their curiosity was boundless. You had never been a person of interest before, the center of attention. You had always kept in the background, and you were comfortable there. Never aware of what you could be missing. It took being ripped from that safety to make you feel special. You couldn’t deny you enjoyed the attention the little ones bestowed upon you. Here you were exotic and exciting. Here you were the wife of a prominent man, a man that had made you feel wanted, beautiful even, before leaving you without a word.

Once the illness passed, Magda set about truly teaching you her methods and craft. Learning the different way plants could heal, knowing you would someday be able to do good with that knowledge was exciting. When her lessons were over you were charged with cooking food for Mance and his men. Spending time in his tent gained you access to information you would never have known to ask for. They spoke of other clans and ways to bring them into the fold. You weren’t sure why combining forces with the likes of cannibals was necessary. But it seemed as if things beyond your comprehension were happening. You surmised that a neighboring clan called the “Others” were causing alarm amongst the men, but why you couldn’t make out. The words they used made no sense to you. Being privy to these new insights was worth the leers and glares you received in turn. Those were nothing new. Serving men mead and food was the one thing that was universal it seemed.

Mance was different though. He seemed clever and worthy of the respect he had garnered. You enjoyed talking with him, listening to his stories, and occasionally, his songs. He had kept to his word to keep you safe and watch out for you. He had even taken it upon himself to arm you with a dagger something you were grateful for and wondered why Tormund hadn’t taken that precaution.

But your favorite thing Mance had done for you was listen. He asked you for your opinions and actually listened when you gave them. He even followed through when you voiced the idea of a garden in the hot spring cave. He commissioned men to build you large wooden boxes. They dug up the frozen ground to fill them with dirt. Magda was more than pleased to try and grow what she needed. And you planted the seeds you had carried with you, hoping they took root.  

As busy as your days were, your nights were spent alone. Often staring at the fire, wondering if and when Tormund would return. You thought sleeping on your own would feel natural after doing so all your life before him. But it was strange. Uncomfortable. Cold.  You had never felt lonely being alone before, and now it festered inside you. The cause and the cure one and the same.  

 

* * *

Two months. Two months beyond the wall. Two months without Tormund. Most of the glares you had received when you first arrived had been replaced with pitying glances. The leers, however, had only turned more lascivious like vultures circling a recent kill.

You were grateful for Mance’s presence as well as the dagger he gave you. You felt like one of the pieces of meat you cooked as the men stared at you. It was unsettling and unnerving. What would happen if Tormund never came back? Would you be left to their mercies?

After his tent emptied one evening, you asked, “Mance? What happens if Tormund doesn’t return?”

He turned from his maps splayed on the table. “Now, don’t you worry about that. Tormund has never failed to return. Sometimes, tracking crows takes time. And if there was more than one party, he would naturally go after them as well. He’s a strong, brave man. He’ll come home.”

Tears filled your eyes. You wanted his words to be true. Needed them to be. Arms surrounded you and the emotions flooded out as tears flowed freely down your cheeks and on the chest of the man holding you.

“Shh…” He stroked your hair, placing a kiss to your crown.

“Get your hands off my woman!!!” roared a voice behind you.

You lifted your head, turning to peek through Mance’s arm. Tormund stood with Ygritte just behind him. His red hair windswept, his brows furrowed into a murderous scowl. His nostrils flared with the heaving of his broad chest.

Ygritte patted Tormund on the shoulder. “See. Told ya Mance would take care of her. Seems like real good care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story let me know!! I'm also on Tumblr. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

"Get the fuck out, Ygritte," Tormund growled.

The ginger headed girl's grin widened, her eyes alight with mischief as they danced from you to Mance and back again. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this for—"

"OUT!" Tormund pulled his dagger as the girl left leaving the three of you alone.

The man before you with the flash of rage in his eye was not your husband. He was the Wildling that slaughtered your village, leaving bodies strewn in pools of blood in his wake. The arms around you lifted. Your body trembled as you turned, worried you would fall without Mance to steady you.

"Tormund," you said, voice quavering. Tears that had started to subside rose again. His eyes flicked from Mance to you. His glare never lifting. Heartbeat racing, you stepped forward, hoping you could calm the storm building in the atmosphere.

"You get out too," he commanded, pointing to the exit with his blade.

You looked to Mance, who nodded, before treading carefully around Tormund. The cacophony of yells hastened your steps. You had to get away. You couldn't be the cause of your friend's death. Couldn't see blood spilt by Tormund once more, knowing that you were the cause. What would happen to the peace between clans if the King-Beyond-the-Wall was murdered?

This was not at all how you envisioned your reunion. You had wanted to him to be happy to see you. To run to his arms. To have him carry you back to you tent, where he would ravish you soundly. You shook your head at the foolishness of your dreams, confused by them and even more so by your reality. Everything with him always felt wrong and yet still somehow right.

Pausing at the mouth of your tent, the guilt and fear clouding your thoughts lifted. You had done nothing wrong. Mance had done nothing wrong. The only guilty party in this situation was Tormund. He kidnapped you. He brought you beyond the wall. He took everything from you. Took your virtue. Left you without saying farewell. And he had the audacity to be angry with you? For seeking solace over your worry for him? Heart slamming against your chest, you turned from your lodging and headed towards the caves, the snow crunching under your strides. Tormund could wait for you now.

Determination and spite carried you forward. You were not the same woman he took from your home. No longer bound in servitude to your father, where your safety depended on the whims of drunken men, you had gained a level of freedom and respect you had never known. He needed to acknowledge that. Acknowledge you.

Secretly, you were glad Tormund had left. Glad for the opportunities Magda and Mance had given you to learn new talents as well as use the ones you had already crafted. Had he stayed, you were sure you never would have left your shelter. But you still couldn't abide the way he had left you. Sneaking off as though you did not merit a farewell. It hurt. And the fact that it pained you so, scared you. The weight of those emotions, the reasons behind them were not something you cared to dwell on.

Grabbing a lit torch, you entered the mouth of the cave, the sound of falling water growing as you neared the spring. Igniting a brazier, the smell of water and rock surrounded you as light danced along the walls. Memories of your first night haunted every sense whenever you were here. And now your hopes for the future resided here as well.

Your fingers trailed the pine needles and leaves that covered the topsoil in your wooden gardens, insulating the seeds that you had planted. You did not know if all the plants would grow, but you could have sworn you had spotted a little bit of green poking through the dirt. If this worked, it could change the way of living for The Free Folk or at the very least give some much-needed variety to the meat they consumed.

"I told you to go home," a deep voice bounced off the walls surrounding you, resonating in your bones.

"No. You told me to 'get out.' You never said where to go after that." You turned to face your husband standing at the other end of the raised garden.

His eyebrow quirked at your open defiance as he stalked towards you. "That doesn't sound like an obedient wife."

Raising your chin, eyes meeting his, you replied, "No. It sounds like a free woman." Your feet moved of their own volition, carefully keeping you separated from him as you both circled the wooden box between you. "I've done just fine without you. I don't need you telling me what to do." Your eyes darted to the cave entrance, measuring the distance.

His predatory gaze flickered in the light of the flames as he watched you, his eyes never leaving yours. "What did I say would happen if you ran from me again?"

Goosebumps tickled your arms, heat pooling between your legs as you remembered his threat. Threats were not supposed to entice. Panic overrode good sense. You bent down quickly, fingers closing around a small loose stone. Tormund's blue eyes widened in surprise a moment before the rock made contact between them.

Slipping as the gravelly ground slid beneath your feet, you made it past the cavern's mouth before you heard your name bouncing off the walls within. Self-preservation spurring you on, you flew down the paths between the domed tents. People sitting around fires turned to watch, some laughing and some yelling. Their words lost in the pounding of your blood that filled your ears.

Strong arms surrounded you as your feet flew forward and your back slammed into Tormund's chest. One large hand gripped your throat gently, squeezing slightly as you struggled against him. "Fight me all you want. But you'll remember who you belong to before the night is done."

You struggled against him on principle, knowing there was no over-powering the large man. Tormund pulled you into the home you shared with him. Spinning you to face him, he grasped the front of your coat and pressed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. Thoughts of biting him dissipated as his tongue pushed past your lips weakening defenses. It was too late to resist when you finally realized his hands had been loosening your coat which was pushed down your shoulders, sliding off your arms to the ground. You found yourself on your back, Tormund straddling your body, wrestling your arms above your head, securing them with strips of leather to the wooden bed frame.

"Get off of me!" you growled, bucking your hips as his hands gripped the remains of your linen shift, rending it in two, your nipples tightening in the crisp air. "I needed that!" you yelled.

"No. I know what you need." He slid down your body, rough hands sliding over your breasts massaging them, rubbing the peaks with his thumbs until you arched against them before tugging your pants and small clothes down to your ankles, making it near impossible to kick him while he removed your boots. Pulling off your pants, his heavy-lidded eyes darkened as he drank in the sight of you.

Tormund stood shedding his layers, watching you roll to your side and pull your knees to your chest as if that would somehow protect you. As if you really wanted protecting. His weight dipped the straw mattress as he joined you on the bed, stroking his thick shaft. He caught both your ankles, pulling them until you were stretched beneath him.

Spreading your legs wide as he knelt between them, he said, "Seems your body knows what it needs too. So wet already for me. I dreamed of having you every day I was gone." He slid his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slickness, the head rubbing against your clit.

Heat spread throughout your body, across your cheeks. A fine mist dusted your temples as you refused to give in, withholding your moans, stiffening your back against the need to arch into his movements.

He leaned over you, pressing his body against yours all the while never ceasing the undulating of his hips. He pressed kisses to your fevered brow. "What good does fighting me do, girl? Give in. What's so important that you would deny the pleasure only I can give you?"

Pride. Your pride was important. Wasn't it? Your mind tried to concentrate as his lips trailed down your body, sucking at the tender skin of your neck, pulling at your nipples, drawing them into his mouth as he lavished attention upon them. Your body trembled as you tried and failed to resist the fire he stoked inside you as his kisses traveled further down your body.

Pinning your thighs to the mattress with his hands, his tongue ghosted over your folds, the warmth of his breath sent shivers coursing through your body. His mouth, his tongue, teased and tormented with the lightest of touches. Need and lust conquered pride and rational thought as you rolled your hips, searching for relief. Teeth nipped at your pussy, a low growl of warning vibrated against you. You were at his mercy.

Tormund's head turned, focusing on your inner thighs, his beard promising friction as it tickled your cunt. You bucked your hips against his cheek and shuddered as you finally gained the pressure you'd been seeking. He jerked his head away from you, his hand slapping your cunt eliciting your first moan. Sensing your surrender, he buried his face between your legs, finally lapping at your pussy with broad strokes of his tongue. Your thighs shook as he sucked mercilessly at your clit, bringing you to the cusp of climax before pulling away from your body abruptly.

"Tell me what you want," he commanded. His fingers stroking your slit, gliding effortlessly through your wetness.

Pride be damned. You looked at him hovering over you. "You. I want you inside me." He traced one finger from your clit, through your folds, not stopping until it rubbed against the small hole beneath your pussy. You tried to retreat, but his other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place. "No," you gasped as his finger slowly pushed inside you, waiting for your body to adjust to the strange intrusion.

"You wanted me inside you. Should have been more specific," he said with smirk pulling at his lips. "Someday, I'll fuck this sweet little arse. So tight."

Your toes curled and back arched once he withdrew and began to pump his finger in a slow rhythm any previous discomfort long gone. You were full and achingly empty all at once. You could not help but feel that this was wrong, sinful even. But the pleasure outweighed any shame you could have mustered.

Tormund's other hand slid down your hip, over your mound. His thumb circled your clit. The build of sensation, tightening of muscles began yet again. He movements drew moans from your lips as you submitted fully to the lascivious attentions. Once more he removed himself from your body before you could find completion.

You cried out in frustration, straining against the leather that still bound your hands. "Please," you begged. You were ready to give him anything, do anything to finally come.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked crawling over your body. His fingers gripped your chin, turning it until you faced him.

You squirmed under him, rubbing your soaking sex against his shaft. "You. I belong to you." The head of his cock lined up with your pussy. You lifted your hips, needing him inside you.

Meeting no resistance, he thrust inside you, filling you, stretching you. He pulled back and plunged in forcefully. His pace was demanding, the base of his cock pushing against your clit with each powerful stroke. Overstimulated and sensitive, your orgasm ripped through you. Muscles contracting, vision swimming in blackness, as your cunt clenched around his cock. He did not relent, the snap of his hip prolonging your climax.

Tormund reached above your head, untying your hands. Fingers threading through his long locks, you pulled him down, pressing your lips to his. His moan vibrated against your mouth as his thrusts quickened. You wrapped your legs around his hips as his body shuddered over yours. His dick pulsed inside you, filling you before he collapsed on top of you.

Rolling to his side and pulling you with him, you felt his beard tickled your forehead as he pressed a kiss in your hair. "Let that be a lesson to you. I never want to see you in the arms of another man again" Laughter shook the bed as you were bother overcome with amusement.

"Stupid man. I was crying over you." You snuggle close to his chest, his arms wrapped around you. This is what you had craved. His arms around you and a haze of satisfaction buzzing inside your mind.

"Have you so little faith in me? I've killed a giant. You think a few crows are any match for me? You'll not be rid of me so easily." He stroked your back as you listened to his rhythmic breathing. Quiet contentment fell between you as you fell asleep in his arms once more.

* * *

Rays of light beaming through slits in the tent signaled morning's arrival. You rolled over, expecting to find the large form of your husband taking up most of the bed and found yourself laying in a cold spot. He had left? Again?

Anger coursed through your veins, reigniting your feelings from yesterday. You sat up in the cold morning air looking for your clothes and found them on the foot of the bed. One of Tormund's large undershirts lay on top of your coat. It would have to do until you were able to fix or find a new linen one for yourself. You supposed the bodice of your old dress might work if you cut the skirt off. You dressed quickly and turned to tend to the fires when Tormund walked in carrying an armful of freshly chopped wood.

"What is all this?" he asked, ducking under bouquets of snowdrops and sprigs of holly and pines hanging from the frame holding up the tent. He leaned down to kiss your cheek and snarled as you turned your head and walked to the pot containing stew from yesterday.

You stoked the fire and stirred the stew. "The children brought them to me."

He laid the wood down and sat at the table. "The children? The little monsters who inhabit _this_ camp? Why?" He looked at you skeptically.

"To say 'thank you' I suppose." You continued tending to your cooking, doing your best to ignore him.

"Thank you? For what?" He sounded positively alarmed and confused that anyone here would have gone out of their way to show you gratitude.

Exasperated, you relented. "I helped Magda tend to them and nurse them through fevers the week you left. Curious little creatures wanted to know about life south of the wall. I may have told them I used to dry flowers in my kitchen by hanging them from the ceiling so I would have them all year. I came back one day from Mance's and found all these hanging. They were more than a little proud of themselves." You ladled food into two bowls and placed one in front of him at the table.

"And what else has that witch, Magda, been teaching you?" he asked.

You sat watching, waiting for him to pick up his spoon and eat. You shrugged, crossed your arms on the table, and said, "She taught me about plants mostly. Which are for healing. Which are for fevers. Which are poison."

Tormund's hand stopped before reaching his mouth. He eyed his spoon and his expression darkening. "Why aren't you eating?"

You replied, "Why aren't you?" You raised your eyebrows, never breaking eye contact with the fierce man in front of you. He glared suspiciously at his bowl, putting his spoon down. You leaned forward and asked, "Do you, honestly, think I would poison you?"

His eyes traveled up and down your body as if considering you for the first time. "I don't know."

"Good." You picked up your spoon and proceeded to eat a lump of root vegetable. "Remember that the next time you think of leaving me without saying goodbye."

His mouth hung open for a second before closing. The tension in his face seemed to smooth over as realization dawned. "Is that the cause of your ill temper this morning? Hells, woman, I meant to spare you. Nothing worse than a long goodbye. The weeping and wailing." He resumed consuming his meal with renewed enthusiasm.

"Well, you didn't. Don't do it again."

His voice lowered to a gravelly growl. A glint of amusement shone beneath his glare. "Are you, Southron lass, giving me a man of The Free Folk a command?"

The rapacious change in his eyes and voice made you throb between your thighs as heat and slickness spread in anticipation. Lifting your chin in defiance, you whispered, "Yes. I am."

He stood from the table. He walked around and stopped as he towered over you. "And what makes you think you have that power?"

You looked up at him, determined not to shrink at his impressive display of intimidation and remembered what Magda had taught you. "I know what to feed you so you shit yourself to death."

Tormund's head fell back as his laughter filled the air. He pulled you up, wrapping his arms around you, his chest vibrating with merriment. "They'd have to rename me, Tormund Shitstain. Cruel Woman. Alright. You win. I won't leave without a proper farewell in the future."

You smiled up at him, elated that you had won a victory even though you had to threaten him with a humiliating death to triumph. You placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him down, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. The first you had initiated outside of the marriage bed. The weight of the small gesture hung in the air as you both realized what had just happened. Tenderness beamed from his eyes as his hands came up to rest on either side of your neck, cradling your head as it tilted back. Your tongue wet your lips as you watched Tormund lean down his eyes never leaving yours.

"Tormund!" bellowed a voice from outside snapping you both out of the spell that overcame you. It was Mance Rayder. You were relieved to know that he still lived.

Placing your hand on your husband's chest, you prompted him. "You should apologize to him. He was nothing but a good friend to you and to me."

He glared momentarily and nodded before leaving the tent. You could hear muffled voices and moved closer to try to discern what was being said between the men.

"Is all well now?" Mance asked. Chuckling, he added, "I heard about you having to drag her back here last night."

"Yes. All's well. She spirited. I may be the one kissed by fire but there's a fire in her. If loved, she will warm your entire home, if abused she will burn it down." The two men began talking of other issues in the camp, and you made your way from the entrance.

You smiled at Tormund's words. A warmth spread in your chest and tears gathered in your eyes as you understood his words to be true. This was your home. Home was where you were accepted. Where you were safe and felt loved. It took being kidnapped for you to truly find yours. As much as you would grieve for the lives lost in your village, as much guilt as you would feel for surviving that brutal day, you would be forever grateful that you had survived. Thankful you had found your place in the world, your home, and as you were coming to realize your love.


End file.
